“Aye. Like your cousin,” he remarked.
“I think I should like to play a game with you,” she said. “Can you play chess?”
“Aye, I can. I’ll get the game table,” he said, hurrying to do so.
“I am restless tonight,” Elizabeth remarked.
He set up the game table between them and offered her her choice of pieces. She surprised him by taking the black. It matched her mood, he thought wryly. “So I am to be the white knight,” he said, amused.
“Isn’t that what my family thinks?” she snapped at him.
“I didn’t have to come back,” he replied sharply.
“But you did, didn’t you? The lure of Friarsgate could not be denied,” Elizabeth murmured sweetly.
“The marriage contract I signed says even if you die, and our child with you, God forbid”—he crossed himself—“Friarsgate will return to your mother. There was no advantage to marrying you, Elizabeth, but that I love you. But loving you becomes more difficult with each passing day. Your tongue is sharper than a sword. Aye, I left you, but then I always told you I would, for I am an honest man. I owed an allegiance to my father, and I thought you understood that. Until he released me from that loyalty I could not—would not—desert him. You might have sent to me and told me you were with child. You might have asked my father to favor a marriage between us. But you ignored your condition, and only when your mother saw it was my father called upon.”
“I am a woman,” Elizabeth cried. “Respectable women do not ask men to marry them, Baen! You were supposed to ask me!”
“Respectable women do not seduce their stewards, yet you did. And how could I ask you when my loyalty lay elsewhere? When I had nothing to offer you? God’s blood, Elizabeth! You’re the heiress of Friarsgate!”
“The pieces are set up,” she said coldly. “Shall we play?”
“Nay, damn it! We shall not!” he shouted, sweeping the game board clean with his big hand. Then he stormed angrily from the hall.
Surprised, Elizabeth watched him go. She had never before seen Baen exhibit any sort of anger, but his choler had been high, and his temper was hot as he left her. He was always leaving her, she thought self-pityingly. The tears began to roll down her cheeks. Well, why would he remain? She was fat, and not pleasant to be around at all these days. She was hardly the bold girl who had debauched him all those months back. What had ever possessed her to do such a thing? she asked herself for the hundredth time. She would have been better off an old maid than what she was now. The child within her stirred restlessly, and Elizabeth wept all the more.
When he returned to the hall he found her asleep in her chair. Baen stood watching her for several long minutes. She was so beautiful, even with her big belly. Sadness overtook him. He had hoped that by now her attitude would be softening towards him. They could not live their lives at each other’s throats. Not once their son was born. A boy learned the important things he needed to know from his father, but if he had no respect for that father there would be great difficulty. And unless Elizabeth’s stance towards him changed, there was little likelihood of his son respecting him. The lad would be the next heir to Friarsgate, and he would be treated from his birth with much deference. But in just a few short years that child would understand what existed between his parents. Better it be love.
Reaching out, he touched her shoulder to waken her. “Elizabeth,” he said softly, “let me get you to bed.” And he picked her up in his arms and walked across the hall.
She stirred in his arms, her eyes fluttering open. “What are you doing?” she asked him sleepily. “Where am I?”
“You fell asleep by the fire,” he explained. “I’m taking you to your chamber.”
“I can walk,” she protested, struggling faintly in his grasp as he began to ascend the stairs. “I am not an invalid!”
“The stairs are difficult for you now,” he replied, his arms tightening about his burden. “You are tired, lass. The burden of your lands is great, I know.”
“I am capable of it even with my belly,” she retorted.
“Aye, you are. I have never known a stronger woman, Elizabeth.” They had reached the top of the stairs. He moved quickly towards her chamber, kicking at the door with his booted foot.
Nancy was there almost immediately, opening the door, gasping as Baen entered with his wife.
He set her down gently. “She fell asleep in the hall,” he explained. Then he kissed Elizabeth on her forehead, and without another word left her.
“Ain’t he sweet,” Nancy said. “He’s the best-tempered man I’ve ever known, mistress. You’re a lucky woman.”
“I want to go to bed,” Elizabeth said low. “Get me out of this tent I’m wearing.”
Nancy said nothing more, but her grin said everything. Elizabeth was hard-pressed not to slap her. She struggled out of the enveloping garment, washed herself in the basin on the table, and climbed into bed. “I’ll want a bath in the morning,” she told her servant.
“You can’t possibly climb into that tub now,” Nancy protested.
“Then bring the small one we used as children. And several extra buckets. I’ll stand in it, but I must wash myself. The scent surrounding me is not a pleasant one,” Elizabeth said. “Good night, Nancy.” She closed her eyes. She couldn’t turn over onto her side, for her belly was simply too large now. She heard the door close as Nancy left her. Elizabeth lay wakeful now. Baen had spoken some hard truths this evening, and for the first time in weeks she had listened. She had seduced him because she wanted him for her husband, and now he was. Had been for six weeks. Why was she still angry at him? He was an honorable man, but she was still not certain despite his avowals that he really loved her. And she did want to be loved, even as her mother and sisters were loved.
She accused him—and she knew wrongly—of wanting Friarsgate. But he had never really exhibited any venality towards her lands. Indeed, he treated her with the respect due her station, and always had. He did his duties as her steward, and her people liked and respected him in turn. She had heard them addressing him as master. What was the matter with her that she could not forgive him? The bairn within her stretched himself, and she winced with the slight pain. Her hands went to her belly, and she rubbed it soothingly. The bairn quieted.
“Ah, you are going to be like your da, young Tom,” she said softly. She had decided to name a son after the uncle she loved so. Both of her sisters had added Thomas to their sons’ names, but they were Henry Thomas and Robert Thomas. Her son would be Thomas Owein Colin. She did not know her father-in-law, and it was unlikely she would ever meet him, but she knew he would be pleased that his first grandchild bore his name. And her mother would be pleased that Elizabeth honored the father she did not remember. Her hands smoothed about her belly as she tried to imagine what the child would look like. Would he be his father’s image? Or would he look like her? Finally her eyes began to grow heavy again, and she slept.
And in the chamber next to hers, Baen lay restless. For the briefest moment as he carried his wife upstairs she had relaxed in his arms, her blond head against his shoulder. All her anger was gone for those few moments, and the Elizabeth he loved had rested safely in his arms. And it had been wonderful! He wanted it to be like that all the time. He wanted their old relationship back. And whatever he had to do to attain that goal, he was going to do. But finding the key to the conundrum that was Elizabeth was not going to be an easy one. He slept at last.
As the month of May drew to a close, Rosamund rode over the hills from Scotland into England to be with her youngest daughter when she gave birth to her first child. She was amazed at how Elizabeth’s belly had grown since she had seen her last. And the poor girl’s ankles were swollen dreadfully. Hugging Elizabeth, she scolded her gently.
“You should not be on your feet so much now, child,” she said.
“I have work to do, Mama. You know that.” Elizabeth replied.
“I will wager all your books are
up-to-date, the lambs counted, the wool shipped off to Holland, and I can see the fields are thick with new growth. You are managing admirably, Elizabeth, but you are soon to give birth and must spare yourself now for a short time. I have seen Edmund, and he is well enough to help out a bit, and he wants to help out. And Maybel is not going to allow you to give birth without her. Does Baen do nothing to help you?”
“Baen is an excellent steward,” Elizabeth found herself defending her husband. “He is gone from morning till evening, Mama. Never has Friarsgate had a better man.”
“I am happy to hear it,” Rosamund said with a small smile. “Then you are getting on better, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth was silent, and then she said, “I want to, but I cannot forgive him, Mama.”
Rosamund shook her head. “I have never known such a foolish girl as you, my daughter. Is there nothing I can say to you?”
“If he would only stop defending himself, Mama,” Elizabeth wailed.
Rosamund shook her head. “Of all my children you are the one who has suffered the lack of my company. You did not like Claven’s Carn and so I let you return to Friarsgate to Maybel’s care. I should not have. You are too independent, Elizabeth.”
“You were independent!” Elizabeth protested.
“I was indeed, but I knew when to retreat from an impossible position. You do not. Well, you and Baen must work it out between you, my daughter,” Rosamund decided. “Now tell me how you are feeling?”
“I sometimes think this will never be over, and that I shall never see my feet again, or be able to sleep on my side,” Elizabeth admitted.
Rosamund laughed. “I know,” she sympathized.
“But none of your bairns was as big as this one, I’m sure,” Elizabeth said.
“Baen is a big man, but you will birth the bairn well, and I will be with you,” Rosamund promised her child.
“I am so glad that you are here, Mama!” Elizabeth said.
“I am glad I am here too, Bessie, and do not scold me. In my heart you will always be Bessie to your mother,” Rosamund said with a smile.
Chapter 15
Rosamund watched in distress as Elizabeth and Baen attempted to mend their difficulties. Actually she admired her son-in-law’s patience with her daughter, who could not, it seemed, resist snapping at him at every opportunity. Several times she almost remonstrated with her daughter, but realizing it would only make matters worse, and that Elizabeth would consider that her mother was taking a position in Baen’s favor, Rosamund bit her tongue in defeat. She had thought Philippa difficult in the matter of marriage, yet Philippa had been easy compared to her youngest sister. But then Philippa had a goal in mind, and having attained it was content. And Banon had never resisted the idea of marriage. She found her Neville, and was happy to settle down as wife and mother.
“Do you love Baen?” she asked her daughter one afternoon as they sat in the little walled garden belonging to the house. It was filled with rosebushes now coming into bloom, and the air was fragrant with them.
“I thought I did,” Elizabeth admitted. “I should not have lain with him if I did not love him.” Her hand went to her belly.
“But do you love him now?” Rosamund persisted.
“I do not know.”
“Either you love him, or you don’t love him,” Rosamund said impatiently. “You had best consider it, Elizabeth. One heir is not enough for Friarsgate, and ’tis better to couple with a man you love.”
“At last I am beginning to understand Philippa,” Elizabeth said sharply.
Rosamund laughed, not in the least offended. “Her reluctance was your gain, daughter. You are as passionate about Friarsgate as I am. My first husband was a strong child, and yet he was felled by the spotting sickness. Children are fragile.”
“This bairn will not be. He is a great lazy lump of a lad, and if he is not born soon, I think I shall go mad. And as for having another, Mama, this is surely not the time to consider that,” Elizabeth said.
“He is a good man,” Rosamund said.
“I know it,” her daughter admitted.
Several days passed, and Rosamund thought her daughter was surely due to birth her child, but Elizabeth showed no signs of it. And then on Midsummer’s Day Rosamund was awakened by the sounds of a woman shrieking. Jumping from her bed and pulling her cloak about her, she hurried from her room to Elizabeth’s chamber, from where the sound came. Her daughter stood in a puddle of water, and Nancy was staring, frozen. Immediately the older woman took charge. “Nancy, tell Cook to have plenty of hot water and the clean clothes ready. You have prepared them in anticipation of this birth?”
Nancy stared at Rosamund, puzzled. “M’lady?”
“Really, Bessie, you didn’t make the clothes? What else haven’t you done while you have sat complaining these past few weeks?” She turned back to the tiring woman. “Go to the kitchens and tell the cook that Mistress Elizabeth is about to go into labor. Then find the laundress and tell her we need clean clothes. She will have them, I am certain. Tell Albert to find the birthing table. It should be in the attics. Bring it to . . .” Rosamund paused, deciding where the table should be brought. “Bring it to the hall, and set it up by the fire. Is the cradle prepared for my grandchild?”
“The cradle!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
“Really, daughter, it is not ready? I am glad you are such a fine mistress of Friarsgate, but now you have another responsibility to consider as well, and you must care for it in an even better fashion. The cradle will be in the attics too, Nancy. Go along, girl! Hurry!”
“I am having my baby?” Elizabeth quavered.
“Yes. Your waters have broken, and now the child will be born,” Rosamund said.
“When?”
“When he decides to be,” Rosamund answered with a laugh. “Some labors are quick. Others are not. Are you in pain?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Let us get you out of this wet garment,” her mother suggested. “Then we will go down to the hall.” And Rosamund helped her daughter from her wet chemise and into a clean one. She sat Elizabeth down and brushed her long blond hair out, then braided it into a single plait. “Your father’s hair was like this,” she told her daughter.
“Mama?” Elizabeth’s voice was suddenly plaintive. “I am afraid.”
“Nonsense!” Rosamund said briskly. “I have birthed eight bairns with little or no difficulty. You are a healthy lass, and your confinement has been a good one. Come along now and we will go down to the hall. Since you have neglected to make the necessary preparations for this birth, then I must. Shall I send for your husband? He was out early, I see.”
“Baen is very reliable,” Elizabeth said as they slowly descended the stairs. “Edmund says we are very fortunate in him. Where is Maybel? I want Maybel!”
“I will have Albert send a lad to fetch her,” Rosamund said quietly, assisting her daughter into a high-backed chair by the fire. She took a goblet of wine from the intuitive servant who hurried to their side, nodding a small thanks. “Drink this. It will help,” she told Elizabeth. I will see to what needs to be done while you wait for your labor to begin.” Then, as the younger woman nodded, Rosamund moved away.
Several manservants came into the hall, struggling under the weight of the oak birthing table. Albert followed, carrying the old cradle, which was blackened with age. Both Rosamund and her deceased brother had lain in that cradle, as had their father and his brothers before and after him. Her own daughters had been rocked in it. She felt the tears pricking at her eyelids and blinked them back. Time, it suddenly seemed to her, was passing by so quickly.
“Send a lad for Maybel,” she said to Albert. “And have someone find the master.”
“At once, my lady,” he said, and shouted to a young serving man to attend him.
Elizabeth watched as everyone about her moved quickly to their tasks. The large birthing table was scrubbed by two red-cheeked serving girls. Then it was carefully dried by
hand. Several pillows were set on it at one end. The cradle was first carefully dusted, then polished. Maybel bustled into the hall and, seeing the cradle, beamed as she brought forth a new mattress she had spent weeks making. She laid it in the cradle’s bottom. Her eyes met those of Rosamund first, and the two women smiled as if in some secret understanding. Then she hurried over to Elizabeth.
“How do you feel, my chick?” Maybel asked the young woman.
“Nothing is happening,” Elizabeth said.
“It will soon enough.” Maybel chuckled. “The laddie obviously has manners, and is but waiting for all to be ready for him.” She took the empty cup from Elizabeth. “I’ll fetch you a bit more wine,” she said solicitously.
Rosamund, now with Maybel’s aid, soon had the hall in readiness for the birth. Nancy had returned from the lower regions of the house with a large pile of clean clothes. She set them upon a small table which already had a large basin and a small pitcher of olive oil. Servants were placing several pitchers of hot water in the coals of the hearth. There was wine on the sideboard. There was a hushed expectancy now in the hall as they awaited the arrival of the next heir to Friarsgate.
Albert came to Rosamund’s side. “The cook wants to know what he is to do about the dinner today?” he asked her.
“Everything is to be as usual,” Rosamund replied. “The family will need to eat.”
“Very good, my lady,” he replied.
“Now go and ask your mistress the same question,” Rosamund gently admonished the hall steward. “You should have gone to her first, and then consulted me.”
“I apologize, my lady,” Albert murmured, flushing.
“I understand,” Rosamund returned quietly. “You were a lad when I ruled in this hall, but it is my daughter who for so many years now has held sway.” Then she watched as Albert moved to Elizabeth’s side and spoke to her, then, nodding, moved away.
Towards midmorning a look of surprise crossed Elizabeth’s face. “Mama!” Her tone was an urgent one. “I felt a pain.”
The Last Heiress Page 35
